


Play

by Xaori



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, F/M, I didn't know there was actually something below the M rating..., I just found this on my hard drive, I would post something else but something else isn't ready yet, Jill playing the piano, Romance or so..., Valenfield - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2020-12-16 10:33:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21034829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xaori/pseuds/Xaori
Summary: And when you hear the music, you will know that you have found your soulmate. An emotional threesome between Chris, Jill and a piano.





	1. One

Music heals your soul, they said. It had the power to sing you into a state of peace and serenity; to grab all your problems, pack them into a box and carry them away for a while. Everybody liked music, didn't they? Naturally, so did Chris Redfield, whose father had made sure he knew everything about good, hand-made music before he'd died. Chris had believed he knew everything about it, but he hadn't known the real magic of music until he'd witnessed Jill Valentine play the piano on a cold October morning.

This time, he had fucked up for good. One wrong step and a shot before Wesker could give orders and someone who wasn't implicated had fallen victim to the 9mm bullet coming from his very barrel. How had that even happened to him? He was the best marksman S.T.A.R.S. had ever seen, for god's sake. He had believed it was one of the scrubs that were cooking meth somewhere in that dusty warehouse, but no. A little girl it had been—nine, maybe ten years old. She'd make it through, luckily, but that didn't mean that Chris would. His hotheaded, challenging attitude had eventually taken its toll on him and earned him quite a decent suspension.

Jill had taken him in that night, fearing he would settle down somewhere between the pool table and the door to the stinking men's room in that low-cost hell that was exaggeratedly advertised as _pub_. Barry had brought him there with the best of intentions, but little had he known about the chemical reaction that took place once Chris Redfield and liquor collided. Jill had been the first one he'd called, because Chris needed one of her kind, it seemed; someone as alone and pitiful as himself.

And so, he woke up in a bed that wasn't his—dizzy, nauseous and still thirsty for more booze. The thick, dense paste of saliva in his mouth was glueing his lips together, cutting every word he could possibly speak. Eyes scanned the surroundings, trying to identify the room rather unsuccessfully. He had no fucking idea where he was nor how he'd gotten there.

And there it was. A note so high it might have seen heaven once; so melodic it seemed a choir was singing—and so loud he thought his head would burst soon.

Chris rolled out of the bed and dragged his feet towards the door, following the beautifully annoying music that hammered so heavily on his head. The source lay in the living room in the shape of Jill Valentine, wrapped in an oversized grey cotton sweater and white sport socks. She was playing the piano. Right. Jill had taken him home, Chris awkwardly remembered as he inspected the place. Everything was neat and clean, with little to no decoration and the citric smell of lemon air freshener hanging in the room, and Chris suddenly felt happy he was the most useless marksman S.T.A.R.S. had ever seen. Hadn't he nearly killed a little girl, he wouldn't have found out how beautiful Jill looked when she played, nor how peacefully her music seemed to soothe his soul. Jill was his coworker, a natural born rule-follower and personified professionalism, and he had never even dared think about her in any different way. But now that she was playing the piano, his head began to spin as he wanted to believe she was playing for him alone. Once he got kicked out of S.T.A.R.S. for good, he'd ask her out.

Jill looked up, the sting of greyish-blue eyes interrupting his train of thought.

"Good morning," she whispered after her fingers had stopped flying over the keys. "How are you feeling?"

And Chris' pasty lips curved a smile.

"Much better, thank you."


	2. Two

Music was all you needed sometimes. That was true, Chris thought, as he turned in the bed and listened to the melody that was filling the air. Music had the power to ease the pain of your soul and make those bruises on your body less harmful. It was, most probably, the reason why Jill was playing now.

There wasn't enough music in the whole world to make them forget the things they'd seen, though. Human experiments. Zombies wearing the faces of their friends. Huge snakes and spiders. That ugly, unkillable Tyrant-thing. And Wesker! Albert fucking Wesker, Mr. I-am-the-law-and-you-are-not, working for Umbrella in his free time and pairing humanity with dangerous viruses to see what came out. What had come out was a mansion full of dead and undead. Barry, Rebecca, Jill and Chris himself were the only ones who'd made it out alive of that infested mansion, damned to wear the scars of survival for the rest of their miserable lives. They could be grateful they were alive. _Alive_. What a weird word.

Chris pulled away the sheets and got onto his feet in the dark bedroom. Jill hadn't wanted to be alone that night, so she had asked him to stay. He had, for more than just one reason. If he was honest, he couldn't stand the thought of being alone either, as he still heard the grunts and smelled the bloody flesh whenever he closed his eyes. He needed Jill as much as she seemed to need him, and so, he hadn't hesitated a second when she'd asked him to come to bed with her. Since the time he'd nearly drunk himself to death trying to deal with the suspension, he and Jill had become inseparable. They were more than partners; they were best friends, soul mates, even. There was nothing bad about sleeping in the same bed when your friend needed you, was there? The temptation and impure thoughts about each other long overcome, they just grouped to fight loneliness together. Loneliness brought nightmares, terror and irresolution and together, their chances of remaining sane were considerably higher. However, this time, the absence of loneliness didn't seem enough for Jill to find rest.

She was playing the piano again. Always the same melody, always the same song invoking the bright shine of the moon as it seemed to cry its death. Chris stood in the door frame, watching her play. She wore a black tank top, tousled hair and a thin line of silver moonlight traced around her silhouette. She was so absorbed in her doing that she didn't perceive his presence in the room and just kept playing her melody of comfort and care, more beautiful than ever, and Chris realized that, this time, it was not music that he needed.

What he needed was the girl who played it.

He began to move into her direction in silence—slowly, not wanting to disturb her melody. Jill flinched a bit when he sat next to her, but her fingers kept bravely tied to the keys. Wordlessly, he let her finish, listening to the dangling curls of notes that involved them until the last one was ripped from the piano and the sound died away. They remained silent for a while, sitting next to each other and facing the instrument, lost in thoughts. Neither of them dared to speak a word.

It was the neighbor from below who broke the silence, battering the ceiling with a broomstick or similar. Chris chuckled.

"Maybe you should get your apartment soundproof if you want to keep playing in the middle of the night," he whispered, waiting for the cranky old neighbor to end his episode of rage.

"Fuck him," the woman replied, her face emotionless. "I shot Forest's face last night. I can shoot him, too."

A part of him wanted to laugh. He had never met someone as preoccupied and nerve-wreckingly correct as Officer Jill Valentine, and seeing her threaten an oblivious, innocent, though irritating neighbor was as hilarious as it was heartbreaking. Chris knew the pain behind her words better than anyone. He himself had found the zombie devouring Kenneth Sullivan, and never would he forget the clonk of his comrade's head when it had dropped to the floor. Chris' hand rose, softly touching Jill's, which was still hovering over the keys. Their both weight pressed down, the hammers sank onto the strings and another noisy song played, followed by the neighbor's persistent knocking. Jill grinned devilishly, and Chris' heart jumped a bit. If she was to commit murder, he knew he would gladly be her partner in crime. She turned to him, scanning his features closely, and he didn't mind; she could inspect him as much as she wanted. Once Jill Valentine looked at you, you were hers—forever. Eyes met, hearts raced, and breath got stuck somewhere in their windpipes. Chris smiled, assuming that it wouldn't help the slightest put the haunting thoughts to sleep, but Chris Redfield would rather die than stop trying. Jill smiled back at him with heavy-lidded eyes, their shimmer drawn from them by sleeplessness.

"Chris," she whispered, receiving a friendly hum from her partner. "Hold me, please."

And before he could react, she slung her cold arms around his shoulders and nuzzled his neck, showing him how her music wasn't the only magic she had. Tense at first, Chris quickly felt how easily his hands slid over her arms and shoulders, pulling her closer into him. Yes, he would hold her, he would hold her forever if it was what she wanted. Her skin was soft, and goosebumps blossomed wherever he touched, inviting him to trail his fingers along the edge of her shoulder blade and down to her waist. Jill winced softly when he turned his head down and breathed against her earshell.

"I'm here." It was all he could tell her, not knowing that it was exactly what she needed to hear. Her tiny frame felt needful and fragile in his grip and Chris found it genuinely uncommon for such a strong, independent woman. Jill breathed against his skin and stole his breath planting the tiniest of kisses onto his neck. Chris froze, his stiff fingers desperately trying to hold her tenderly, as Jill kept caressing him with her mouth.

He couldn't just touch her, could he?

Jill quickly took that burden from him, letting her fingertips crawl up to his neck, worshipping his every curve she found on her way. When she reached his jaw, she angled his face to hers. So near. Her lips were just an inch away from his and he simply forgot how to turn his head. Before he could come up with a proper excuse to speak, she gently pressed her mouth onto his and Chris' eyes fell shut automatically, in an attempt to savour her better. He opened his mouth, fully tasting the hint of dry sorrow on the tip of her tongue as she ran it over his lower lip. Jill breathed in deeply and, hand fisted in his hair, she dragged him closer to her.

Everything about her was enchanting, from the way she wore her hair to how she nipped on your lip when she kissed you and for one short moment Chris was close to forgetting the horrid happenings in the Arklay Mountains. A creepy mansion in the woods, strange bloodthirsty creatures; Jill and him making out in the middle of the night. Why did everything in his life feel so perfectly unreal lately?

Jill fitted into his grip as if she'd been shaped out of one of his own ribs, with her tiny waist and round hips rolling in his palms and her sweet tongue stroking over in his mouth. Hadn't he always wondered how she would taste like? Now he knew. Jill Valentine tasted like the first ripe, bloody cherry in summer and Chris' heart pounded so hard in expectation that he felt himself close to faint. He looped his arm around her thighs and gently pulled her onto his lap, still uncertain how far he wanted to take the night.

Luckily for both of them, there wasn't much to understand once you let your body take full control. Chris softly slid his hands down the curve of Jill's hips and over her soft cotton shorts as his mouth kept claiming hers, ripping silent moans from it. The woman arched her back, hitting the keys of the majestic instrument behind them once more and sending thunder in shape of music through the room.

Jill pulled back in shock, staring at Chris in silence as she waited for the angry neighbor to complain again. The seconds passed and nothing happened, though, leaving them in complicated intimacy with their own thoughts and feelings. Chris' look jumped from her eyes to her mouth and back as hands kept caressing her skin. She gave him her loveliest smirk and let her fingertips run over his lips in a gentle brush.

"Chris." She whispered his name, fearing she could wake the world around them if she spoke too loudly. "Come back to bed with me."

Did he have any other choice but to obey? Blood rushed into his groin and pushed him onto his feet, with Jill tightly settled in his grip. Her arms wrapped around him, she kissed his mouth again and let him carry her back to the bedroom, where their music helped each other ban the sounds of death from their heads.


	3. Chapter Three

Life was better with music, they said. Well, whoever affirmed that, certainly didn't know how beautifully Jill Valentine's prodigious hands danced over the keys of a piano. Because life wasn't just better when Jill played; it made it liveable again. No matter how hard and cold it was outside, there was always a home when Jill played. Forget the battle, the deaths, the monsters. Forget the gunshots and bombs and rockets. Forget the blood; all the blood. When Jill gave her music to you, nothing else mattered anymore.

Not even the fact that you'd nearly lost her, and that she was being an irrational bitch over it.

She'd been doing her job as well as always, she'd said; that shit happens sometimes; that Parker was a good partner and that there was no need to dwell in concern. She'd told him not to be such a pussy; that she could take care of herself and that it had been _his_ idea to get different partners, after all.

That last reproach had come with an unusually hard tone, but he knew he deserved it. It was true. He'd wholeheartedly believed it was the best for both of them if they didn't work so close together for some time, as their relationship had evolved over the years into something uncontrollable; complicated at best. He loved her; no doubt. No other woman had ever gotten to know him as well as Jill Valentine and he was positive that he himself was the only one Jill had ever let that near to her. That was, perhaps, why she had taken his decision so badly. Curious. Hadn't she always been the one who constantly feared breaking the rules?

Chris nearly stumbled into the living room of their shared apartment, with the keys still in his hands. They had moved in together after Chris had returned from his trip to Europe in 1999, with his sister Claire and important intel about Umbrella in tow. As both their apartments had been destroyed in Raccoon City, their common goals and investigations led them to rent a tiny place together, and so it remained until the present day. They spent so much time together at work that it seemed to be a natural law that they also needed to be together in their free time. Everybody believed they were a couple anyway, so why not give people more reasons to gossip?

The truth was, they had never been more than best friends who took care of each other, even when taking care included casual sex. Casual meant twelve, maybe thirteen times in all the years that had transcurred since their first night together, so neither of them considered it fateful in any way. At least, not openly. Because, while Jill seemed completely fine with their standards, Chris felt a punch in his bowels every time his partner gave him the goodbye-and-thank-you-shrug when she got dressed again. He did his best to stand the torture, and told himself that it was the best for them if they didn't take their relationship any further. Because of work. Because of their friendship. Because of their fight. However, when the last Christmas party had ended in noisy and unrestrained sex for only one of them, Chris had known that he couldn't continue that close to her and pretend that he didn't care.

He had suggested they should switch partners. What he hadn't told her yet was that he was also looking for an apartment on his own. It wasn't like he was abandoning her; he just needed some time and room for himself. That was what he thought, at least; that their bond had become so close that there was barely a Chris Redfield without a Jill Valentine. But once he opened the door and found Jill playing the piano in the living room, he knew that, no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to live without her. He watched the woman from the security of the hall, absorbing every move of her like she was the sunlight and he the flower. By the way she hit down the keys, Chris knew that she was pissed.

Despite noticing his presence, she kept playing her melody, leaving him listening and suffering, and her music became torture.

Jill stopped abruptly in the middle of the piece, heaving him back from wherever his mind was currently stuck. Their eyes met in the comfortable dim light of their living room and Chris perceived that there was at least as much sorrow and hurting behind her fury as there was in himself. His eyelids grew heavy. His full-hearted nature would have picked a fight with anyone in the whole fucking world if needed; even with Claire; but arguing with Jill was more than he was willing to stand. Step after step, he moved into her direction, seeing the ire vanish from her face. When he sat next to her at the piano, she wasn't mad anymore.

"Why do you want to leave, Chris?" her voice was low, so full of pain and distrust that it nearly broke his heart. It was unimportant to know how she had found out, despite all his efforts, that he wanted to move out. He sighed.

"That was just an idea," he whispered. "To see how things go." He turned his head to her and he was sure he had seen a pout on her face. She nodded.

"I see." Jill turned her attention back to the piano, running her fingertips over the keys without pushing them down. "Parker asked me if you and I were a thing."

The change of subject was irritating, but Chris somehow managed to blow out a laugh.

"Really? He was hitting on you?" Before he could shoot her with inappropriate comments, Jill's rolling eyes reminded him how awkward it had been to avoid Jessica's insisting aims for his manhood. He cleared his throat instead. "What did you tell him?"

She grimaced, shrugging one shoulder almost imperceptibly.

"I was lucky we were attacked before I could reply." A sad glance hit him from behind those icy grey-blue eyes. "Why have we never been a thing, Chris?"

He looked up, not even aware how he began to grind his teeth as he turned his eyes to her. Had she really just asked…? Gasping, he began to stutter together a reply that wouldn't compromise anything.

"A thing? We are a thing, aren't we?" He laughed a little, shrugging as if nothing mattered, when everything mattered, though. "We're partners. I would risk my life for you and you would risk yours." His eyes met hers as he smiled. That had been a good answer. "Right, partner?"

Jill offered a sigh in response, angling her head to the side as she eyed him. Could she see how much regret and hope and everything lay in those empty words of his? If she did, she didn't complain. Jill stood out for her analytical capability, for being the observer, for slowly approaching a target before attacking. So, she just cracked a smile.

"You brave man" she muttered with a grimace on her face. Closing the heavy cover over the keys, she rolled off the tiny bench they sat on and walked away, swinging her hips toward the bathroom.

"I'm gonna have a shower," were the last words she spoke before the door fell shut and left Chris behind in stunned confusion.

"Brave?" he whispered to himself and shot to his feet. The piano bench was thrown over by the heavy movement and the strings rattled inside the instrument as he hit his fingers onto the cover. She was calling him a coward in his fucking face. What she had wanted to tell him was unsure, though. What exactly did she want him to do? Chris inhaled deeply through wide nostrils and stomped into the direction of the bathroom door. He would show her how brave he really was. He would rip that door open, surprise her in the bathroom and possess her in the shower. She would moan and scream and she would never ever doubt his bravery again.

And then?

Chris stopped abruptly in front of the bathroom door, with the handle already in his hand. Then, they would still be the same, still partners, still friends, still coworkers. She would shrug at him and run away. He let the handle slip out of his palm, as the shower was turned on inside. Knowing her on the other side of the door, undressed and wet, was cutting his breath, but the fear of losing her over a wrong choice was a deep cut in his throat through which destiny would pull his tongue out. A Colombian Necktie made of feelings. It was the worst of all choices. It wasn't right - right now, it wasn't right. Maybe in the future, maybe when they retired. Once hey both left the fight or, at least, the field, they could give each other a try. Once they were older, they'd be wiser to overcome any argument without regret or hard feelings. Right now wasn't the right day. Right now was a bad time for bad choices, Chris told himself as he turned away, thinking that he'd leave those decisions to future Chris and Jill.

He'd soon regret not having made more bad choices regarding Jill Valentine when she was still present.


	4. Four

Always the same sound, the same note, again and again. It hammered on his mind and nerves like a siren in the middle of the night and yet it was the best thing he could currently hold on to. One single note was as much as he could remember of the  _ Moonlight Sonata _ , but it was enough to bring back all those times he had heard her play it.

“Jill.”

His vision blurred as unwilling tears of sorrow and anger shot into his eyes once more, and it seemed that through the corner of the third angle of the teardrop, he could still see the shape of her sitting next to him. He saw her everywhere, if he was honest. He saw her at work, at home, in the store, in the bar, in his bed —oh, lord, did he see her in his bed— in the car, on the street, on the graveyard—everywhere she actually wasn’t. Yes, the picture of Jill Valentine followed him wherever he went. Her voice, however, was gone, and every sound of her left in his life was that first badly-played note of Beethoven’s  _ Moonlight Sonata _ .

His index finger sank onto the key again, as if he just hadn’t done it often enough yet to make her come back. Maybe if he played that note a million times, Jill would just walk into the living room again and tell him to finally finish the motherfucking piece.

“Chris.”

He looked up, letting his body grow tense as he watched the girl in red hair walk across the room. Claire was worried. He knew, because Claire was always worried. Concern was what had made her drive into Raccoon City and what had led her to France. She was everything he had left, so, naturally, they had called  _ her  _ to get him back home, when he’d been crawling through the dirt for days, digging for the mortal remains of Jill Valentine in that shady canyon somewhere in goddamn Europe.

He hadn’t found anything.

“You should eat something and get some sleep.” 

Chris eagerly shook his head and Claire pulled back the hand she’d put onto his shoulder with a sigh.

“Chris, listen. Don’t let her death kill you, too.”

Killing him? What a tremendous idea—and ridiculous, too. There was no way he could be killed, as his whole self had died the day when Jill had gone through that window. But there was still hope for both of them to resurrect. He turned in fury, so quickly that Claire even flinched a bit.

“Don’t say she’s dead!” He got up, standing in front of his sister like a wall about to come down on her. “Don’t you ever say again that she’s dead! She’s not! You hear me? She’s alive!”

Claire held his hateful glance with bravery, not hesitating anew after her first shock. She knew him too well to believe he would actually harm her, even when his hand waved up in a threatening move. She stood still and waited for his rage to pass, blown away by the fresh breeze that entered through the open window, and she kept standing when he seemed to collapse.

“Chris,” she whispered into his ear as her both arms slung around his torso, keeping him from falling. The hint of a kiss on his temple let him know she would always be there, and she held him. Her, the fragile-looking redhead, holding the rock of her brother. What a pitiful image of a man he had become. Chris fought back the tears that were threatening to burst out his eye sockets. He had to remain strong—if not for himself, at least for Claire. Her hand stroked over his back as she shushed him quiet, like a child that was crying for the love of their mother.

“It’s alright.” Her voice had adopted the comforting tone she used when she spoke to little children and it made him even more miserable. “It’s alright. Speak to me, Chris. Is there anything I can do for you? Just tell me.”

There was. There was one thing she could do for him, if she'd just stop complaining, excusing herself by saying that she couldn’t; stupid things about flexibility and practice and the eternity that had passed since she’d last tried. Rebecca always said the same.

"Play for me."

Her sigh was so loud it seemed to blast his head off and the loving touch of her fingertips turned into a tense grasp on his right shoulder. She sank to the chair next to him and he could feel her tired pity all over his presence.

“Chris, we talked about this,” she said, voice heavy with grief. “This won’t bring her back to you.”

His finger pressed the key down once more. How would  _ she  _ know? Claire didn’t know Jill as much as  _ he  _ did. They had been—no, they  _ were _ —partners, friends, even lovers, and nobody could ever break that bond they shared; especially not Albert Wesker. Claire could say whatever she wanted. Jill was alive, because he still fucking  _ felt  _ her. 

His face turned farther away from his sister; straight to the corner where that tremendously huge mirror sat to remind him of his own disgrace every now and then. He saw himself, and Jill was with him; she was always right next to him, day and night.

“When was the last time you slept more than an hour?” he heard his sister ask. Chris didn’t reply; not only because he didn’t want her to continue their conversation, but because he didn’t  _ remember  _ whether or not he had ever slept in his whole life. 

Jill was watching him from the reflection of the mirror, gesturing at the little wooden cabinet where he was keeping his booze ever since Claire had poured the content of all his bottles down the sink, thinking he was losing control to it. Ridiculous. Unlike his sister, he wasn’t in love with someone who’d never love him back. 

“I will go to bed if you play,” he said sternly, and Claire seemed to be ashamed of him and herself. With a mournful headshake, she lifted and rubbed her palm over his shoulder. It was evident that she wasn’t playing for him.

“I have to go to work, but I will tell Barry to come over, okay?”

Chris swallowed dry. Barry would try his typical remedies and drag him into the next bar and he wasn’t in the mood for bars and pool and strangers in short skirts. All he wanted, for God’s sake, was to hear the Moonlight Sonata on Jill’s piano. He hit the key again.

He would have to learn to play himself.


	5. Five

There was no life without music. Chris Redfield had learned that lesson the hardest way, when he had lost the rhythm of his heartbeat and the melody of his soul the day Jill Valentine had sacrificed herself for him. But he had recovered her; he had gone to fucking Africa and found her among the rows of their enemy; and he had fought and won and he had brought her back home. Her music, though, hadn't returned yet.

"She asked about you."

The cute miniature nurse with blond locks and shrill voice always gave him an update on Jill; how she had been doing, what she had eaten or if she'd had night terrors. She was already waiting for him when he stepped through the long, white corridor towards the controlled area where the B.S.A.A. was keeping his old partner. Of course she had asked about him. When someone came regularly to visit you and suddenly stopped, the question why was natural, but, in his defense, it wasn't his fault that Director Johnson hadn't wanted to send any other S.O.A. to investigate the case in Canada. Chris rewarded the young nurse with a smirk and walked past her towards the sterile room where he expected Jill to be climbing up the walls. Instead, he found her figure lying on the bed, curled into a ball and with her blond strands covering her face.

"Let me in!" he yelled against the glass door and the young nurse quickly unlocked the door for him.

He had known Jill wasn't doing well after her return from Africa and due to the withdrawal of the constant ecstasy of P30, and that his daily visits were the only thing that kept her from going insane. Caught with beeping machines between four empty walls, it was hard for her to recognize herself in the reflection in the mirror anymore; and her new looks, courtesy of Albert Wesker himself; weren't making it more manageable in any way.

She was just sleeping, Chris noticed with relief as he stepped closer to her; sleeping and so damn beautiful. The hair and skin were different; she smelled different, too; but she was still his Jill, the one who had picked him up whenever he was on the ground; the woman who knew his darkests secrets—except the one that he loved her like anything else in the whole world—and the one who had died by saving his insignificant life.

Chris kneeled down next to her and woke her with the gentle touch of his thumb on her cheekbone. Jill opened those empty-blue eyes of hers and smiled.

"Hey," she whispered. "You're back."

Chris' smile crackled with disgrace when he noticed her attempt to hide the pain.

"I told you I was coming back," he said. "I'm sorry it took me longer than expected."

Jill rubbed her cheek into his palm as her eyes fell shut again.

"I'm sorry I went crazy over it. I knew you were coming back, but it's hard to remain sane when nobody's telling you anything."

Yes, he knew. He had been kept away from intel and briefings and reports_ for his best_, too, because everybody was oblivious to the fact that there was no best for Chris Redfield without Jill Valentine in his life. Now that she was back, he would take care of her until she could walk on her own two feet again. Not because he owed her after she had traded her freedom for his life; but because he loved her like he had never loved anyone.

Rolling to his feet, he took her by the hand and helped her up. The sports wear they had wrapped her into was a desecration of the beautiful curves her body drew, but Jill was happy they let her wear normal street clothes instead of the paperlike lab robe, and comfy was more important than sexy anyway. Rehab was stressful, and being locked away from the rest of humanity was slowly making her sick, even though she was Jill _fucking_ Valentine and she had come back from the dead. She was so numbed by the situation that there was barely music left inside of her.

That was why, pulling a couple of hundreds of strings, Chris had gotten something special for her and he was excited to finally show it to his partner.

"I have something for you," he said and gestured to the large package he wore under his arm.

Jill blinked at the brownish paper that was wrapped around the packet and turned to face Chris, a curious glance brightening up her expression.

"For me?" she asked and tilted her head. "What is it?"

"You'll have to figure out yourself," Chris said laughing and placed the huge box onto the table, closely followed by the blonde.

The excitement brought a spark of life to Jill's pale face and Chris felt his heart jump at the sight of her. Her tongue darted out to aim for concentration as her slim fingers pulled on the strings to untie the knot. Gasps of expectation filled her lungs shallowly until the revelation of the content took her breath away for good.

"Oh, Chris…" she spoke in awe as her fingers touched the box of the electronic piano he'd gotten for her. "It's beautiful."

"Johnson, the new director—once you're out we're gonna kick his ass together—he was kinda bitchy about letting me bring you the big one," he said with the most hilarious shrug of shoulders she'd even seen. "He was saying something about _room_ and _logistics_. I think it's just legal slang for _You already ignored orders in Kijuju, Redfield. I have to show the world that I still control you._"

And Jill laughed. For the first time in three years, he saw her let out a truthful laugh full of life and soul, and Chris nearly cried over it. They stared into each other's eyes for a long while, checking what to do with all those thoughts and feelings and unspoken words, before Chris turned to the instrument.

"I'm gonna assemble it. What do you think?"

* * *

Once the piano and its support were put together and plugged in, Chris placed it next to the bed, so he could sit next to his partner when she played it—just like old times. When Jill sat on the edge of the mattress and stared down at the keys, a shimmer of something familiar blossomed on her face; something Chris had thought long lost. She was happy.

Her right index finger approached the keys with caution, as though the smooth black and white plastic pieces would fly away in shock as a reaction to every hasty move, and Chris saw doubt surface.

"What's wrong?" He asked concernedly when she'd remained motionless for another minute. Jill just huffed in response.

"I don't know what to play." The confession was hard to digest even for herself, as she had always been the one with the never-dying music. Chris placed his hand onto his partner's, his index finger on hers, and pushed the first key he found. The electronically-produced tune was no competition to the majestic sound of the common hammers on strings, but it was still _music _and Jill's mood seemed to increase to it equally.

"You don't have to play anything if you don't want," Chris suggested and kept hitting random keys with her. "You can just listen to its sound and what it has to tell you, and when you're ready, you can find the melody."

Rocking himself a little closer to the instrument, he spread his shivering fingers along the keyboard with respect. His heart was beating heavily when he pushed the notes that composed the beginning of the piece that would be their shadow forever.

Jill's mouth formed an impressed gasp as she witnessed Chris Redfield's unique performance of delicacy and her hand rose to her chest in proud astonishment. His moves were slow, clumsy at best, and once or twice his left ring finger missed its target audibly, but there lay so much beauty in Chris' version of the _Moonlight Sonata_ that she grew jealous of the keyboard.

"It reminded me of you," he eventually explained, giving up on the piece after only half an attempt. "As nobody wanted to play for me, I learned the first notes myself online."

Jill felt her heart jump wildly through her chest when Chris told her about his time without her. She silently searched for his hand and entwined her fingers with his, ripping a timid laugh from his lips.

"I know that sounds crazy, but it helped me feel closer to you," he said. "I knew you were al-"

The words never found their way out, as Jill grabbed Chris' collar and pulled him so close that their mouths crashed together in despair, and the man simply forgot what he was going to say. They kissed shyly, afraid they didn't know how it was done after such a long time, and it took them both a little while to regain confidence in their own acts, but once the passion they had both believed dead inside of themselves lit up again, their hands and lips could barely be stopped. Chris cupped the back of her neck and turned her head farther to his, where his open mouth waited for her to taste him.

They embraced each other, and Chris noticed for the first time how fragile she felt in his arms. The effects of the P30 had been evident on her body when he'd picked her up in Kijuju, but now that every drop of the drug was drained from her body and the superhuman strength had vanished, all that remained was the mortal, cracked shell of her.

Their foreheads dropped together once their mouths parted and Chris cradled her face in his both hands. Eyes closed, he took in her breath and savoured it on the tip of his tongue as his fingertips danced across her jawline. This was how he needed her, close to his own heartbeat. It was her music that kept him breathing, recklessly pumping life into him. When he managed to open his eyes again, Jill was softly smiling at him.

"I thought of you, too. Every single day."


	6. Six

If anyone ever wondered how long it took the heart to forget their music, the answer is six months. Six months, a thousand shots of vodka, the spot between the legs of exactly seven prostitutes, four dead soldiers and just one targeted hit to the back of the head, and all the music that had guided and defined Chris Redfield for years was gone.

And so was Piers, by the way.

Chris tensed his muscles and felt every single one of them. When that creature had grabbed him, he thought he'd finally get to pay for being such a lousy Captain to his Alpha Team. He must have done something really wrong to make those young men follow him so loyally as he'd led them straight into death. Piers had proven to be the most mindless of them all, infecting himself with what Chris believed was an enhanced strain of the C-Virus—only to save his Captain from the claws of that monster. Had it been for someone younger, better, more important, Chris would have understood; but the fact that a young, talented soldier with leadership-skills would prefer giving his life to seeing his Captain take a step back was simply crazy.

One palm on his chest, Chris tried to feel his heartbeat. The last time he'd sensed it had been in the evacuation capsule that would get him out of those underwater facilities, when he had been screaming his lungs out to make Piers reconsider, to keep fighting and come with him.

They could have cured him.

Chris had heard that Sherry Birkin had successfully convinced Jake Muller to cooperate and to give his blood to create a vaccine or an antidote and the government was _crazy _for living specimens.

They could have saved him. Had Chris been a better Captain, they could have saved Piers' life.

He took a deep breath, slowly giving up on ever finding his heartbeat again. Who was he to live and watch while others suffered and died?

The door opened with a loud squeak and the bright light of the corridor flushed in to consume the shadows in the room. Chris turned his head and found the silhouette of a woman in the beam of light, and he awkwardly gasped for air. He would always recognize that sway of hips, the challenging way she stepped into every room and the hourglass shape that always took his breath away. There was no doubt. Jill Valentine had come to save him.

He lay still on the bed as she came closer, filling the room effortlessly with her strong spirit. Without a word, she climbed onto the bed next to him and slung her thin arms around his torso.

"I'm sorry," she whispered and nuzzled the tense spot where his neck met the shoulders. It was all she gave him after six months of worries, fears and the uncertainty of what he had been up to. Forgiving as she was, she just took whatever was left of him and promised to make it all better.

Chris shifted under her, letting his fingertips tickle softly over the smooth skin of her forearm. She was in a sleeveless satin shirt and he _sensed _it was the blue blouse she had worn the last Fourth of July. She had looked so beautiful and happy back then, Chris remembered bitterly as he wondered how he could have forgotten that goddess of a woman and the music she had given him.

Admittedly, he had forgotten everything—even himself.

He took a deep breath as his fingers curled around her upper arm, holding her close to his heart as he turned to face her.

"Play for me," he whispered. "Please."

Unlike anyone else, Jill never asked questions and never complained when Chris Redfield asked for her music—not even when it was the first thing he did after such a long separation. Lacking an instrument, she licked her lips and began tu hum the soft melody of the _Moonlight Sonata_ as well as she could with only one voice. The piece had become the hymn of their fight and Chris' eyes slowly fell closed tiredly to the sound of her song. Jill hummed until she used up her voice, and Chris knew that if there was anything he would never want to miss in his life, it was Jill's music.

"Will you marry me, Jill Valentine?"


	7. Seven

“You have to pass the thumb below the index finger. Yes, very well!”

The music was slowly turning from clumsy to smoothly beautiful in the hands of the girl that was still finding her sound. Chris couldn’t have been prouder of the little girl as she sat next to Jill, pressing down the keys with eagerness. Despite her unpromising genes, Callie Redfield was a prodigy kid, no doubt.

Although Claire had kept the father’s identity a secret, the girl looked so much like Leon Kennedy that it was almost an insult to the Redfield bloodline. However, his sister had made clear that she was going to raise her daughter alone, and even if Kennedy ever found out about his legacy, the name she had chosen sounded so ridiculously wrong with his last name that it was effectively going to keep him from even trying to give it to her.

Jill loved the toddler like her own daughter, but the sadness little Callie provoked in her aunt lay evidently on the woman’s face every time she saw her. Chris hated it. Rather did he hate himself for it, as it was an effect of one of the worst mistakes of his life.

They had tried without hope. Jill had always known that she wouldn’t be able to conceive after  _ dying _ and being resuscitated by Wesker, but a part of Chris had never wanted to believe the fate his wife was doomed to carry. It wasn't until the third doctor had confirmed her infertility that he had begun to fathom that Jill Valentine would never be the mother of his children.

Until then, he hadn’t even known she had wanted to become a mom. Just a week after rehab, Jill had returned to the B.S.A.A., and not even a year later she had convinced everyone that her place was on the battlefield, even knowing there would be inevitable arguments with Chris. How was he supposed to believe she had ever wanted to retire and grow a family? 

However, after the confirmation, Jill had begun to smile a little less, had taken more and more time for herself. Only when she played her music it seemed to Chris that the melancholy was entirely blown off her body, and he thanked any deity on duty for every little spark of joy he observed on her.

“She’s so clever,” Jill whistled as she waved Callie and Claire goodbye from the window of their apartment. “Would you be mad if I gave her the electronic piano for Christmas?”

Chris chuckled.

“Not me, but Claire might not be entirely happy about it when Callie starts to play late at night.”

Jill winked amusedly and walked back to the instrument to take a seat.

“That's why I'd give her the electronic one. She can always pull the plug.”

The laughter never lasted long when they spoke about Callie. Too intense was the pain over the inexistence of a product of their own love, and the fact that it was their niece who always brought up that feeling was sickening them both. Who would have told that heroes like Chris Redfield and Jill Valentine would crack on something so human like a childless marriage?

"I spoke to Barry yesterday," Chris said softly as he walked over to Jill and began to massage her shoulders. "He was speaking so well of Natalia."

The blonde turned her head a little at the mention of Natalia. The little girl Barry had brought home from Sejm Island had been the key to help him and Kathy overcome the fear of the empty nest Moira and Polly were leaving behind, and the Burton residence had recovered the life that had been threatening to vanish. Despite her warm, educated character, the five years she had spent with the Burtons had shaped her into a characterful young woman who could swear like a punk rocker whenever she needed it, and Barry couldn’t have been prouder.

"You know…" Chris’ voice was kept low, as if he feared to wake a sleeping devil. "Claire said something about an orphanage TerraSave was setting up in Colombia."

Jill’s head drew the line of a nod and her fingertips began to draw the depressing sound of their moonlight music from the piano. Chris let her play the piece, breathing in every sound of it as his hands kept holding on to her bony shoulders. She was so lovely when she played; so magnificent and noble that it was hard to believe she was not meant to be the mother of humanity. When the piece had ended, Jill turned to him and sighed.

“This is not what you deserve,” she whispered and reached for his chin, softly flicking her thumb over the stubble. “You deserve children of your own, Chris; little boys and girls you can give that smile to.  _ You can  _ have children of your own blood.”

He laughed out loudly so Jill wouldn’t hear his heart break. Was the way she had idolized him the truth behind her sadness? Did she truly believe that he could possibly want any other woman to be the mother of his children? He let go of her shoulders and dropped onto the bench next to her, taking her hand in his and smiling at her.

“Blood is not what makes good people, Jill,” he mumbled, searching for the right words to say. “And it doesn’t make a family.”

He stared into her eyes, drawing all the sadness from them as he tried to smile the pain away. Jill had always been his rock, his siren, the woman who had fought by his side and who had made him strong, and if she was implying he should go and have children with someone else, she hadn’t understood what she  _ really  _ meant to him.

“I wish I could see a little  _ you  _ run around our house,” he said and finger-combed her hair out of her face as Jill’s eyes fell shut. “But I don’t care if our son or daughter can’t have our eyes or nose or hair, as long as they have  _ your  _ heart,  _ your  _ spirit and  _ your  _ music.”

A smile blossomed on Jill’s face, growing bigger with every word of Chris’, and when she opened her eyes again, he saw the spark of hope she had always brought him when he’d needed it.

“I love you, Chris,” she whispered and pressed her lips against his.

“I love you, too, “ he said with a soft stroke over her hair. “So, do you want me to ask Claire about the orphanage?”

The blonde began to smile at him.

“Do you think counterterrorism-heroes get more points in the adoption process?”

A chuckle was released immediately as Jill turned to the keys and started playing a different tune, something joyful and proud.

Yes, life was indeed better with music, but it definitely was at its best when it was Jill Valentine who was playing.

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to the wonderful [irithyll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/irithyll/), whose love for Valenfield restored my faith in this ship. This is far from what you deserve, but I will help you fill this fandom with more Chris/Jill until people see that they were made for each other.


End file.
